


Play Ball

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-20
Updated: 2005-03-20
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The Senior Staff plays in a softball game.





	Play Ball

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Play Ball**

**by: Steph**

**Character(s):** Ensemble  
**Category(s):** Humor  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** "The West Wing" and its characters do not belong to me. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, et al. This is just for fun out of a love for the show. No profit is made and no infringement is intended.   
**Summary:** The Senior Staff plays in a softball game.  


The President finished the morning Senior Staff meeting with one final comment, "And don't forget about the 2nd Annual White House Softball game tomorrow afternoon. I expect to see you all there looking enthusiastic." 

CJ Cregg, Sam Seaborn, Leo McGarry, Josh Lyman and Toby Ziegler groaned at him. None of them were particularly looking forward to spending their Saturday afternoon playing softball. Toby, however, was extremely displeased. He gestured and made an effort to speak, "Sir-..." 

"You're playing, Toby," the President said in a tone edged with finality. 

"But, Mr. President-..." 

He shook his head and interrupted him, "I don't want to hear another word about it, Toby. You got out of it last year, you're not getting out of it this year. You've already complained close to 400 times about this and asked out of it nearly 300 times. And your petition to cancel it was signed by only one person, and he was on crutches. So, give it up, Toby. Everyone else on this staff is playing, so you are, too." 

Sam snickered, "Yeah, remember how he got out of it last year?" 

Toby glared at Sam, while Josh continued, "How could we forget? He begged out of it for two weeks straight, and when that failed, he made believe he had a broken arm." 

The President laughed, as Toby's face flooded with red, "Yes, I really don't think Bonnie appreciated you stealing her sling, Toby." 

Toby grumbled in his defense, "She wasn't using it right then." 

CJ decided to jump in, as they all ignored Toby's comment, "And when nobody bought your injury, you got angry and kicked your desk. This caused you to actually break your toe and you did get out of the game." 

Toby smirked, "Well, thank you all so much for that lovely stroll down memory lane. I'm sure I couldn't have possibly remembered those details from one year ago all by myself." 

The President nodded with a grin, "The point is, Toby, that you got out of it once, you're not getting out of it again. You can break every damn bone in your body for all I care, but you're still going to play." 

Toby shook his head and held up his index finger, as he spoke quickly, "Sir, you have to understand that while I enjoy watching baseball, I do not enjoying playing it. I do not enjoy wearing tight pants that make my rear-end look like the Goodyear blimp. My fair skin is no friend to the sun and I do not wish to go home looking like a roasted pig. In conclusion, you know that I loathe the outdoors. I don't think chirping birds are cute and I don't find green grass to be lovely. Give me my chirpless, grassless living room any day." 

The President sighed, "How is it that you've survived on this earth so long with such a negative outlook, Toby?" 

"I stayed indoors, sir," Toby replied, barely hiding his grin. 

The President smiled, "You're playing." 

"Oh, come on, sir," Toby whined. 

Bartlet patted him on the back, "It'll do you good. I don't think your skin's seen the light of day in two years." 

"I like it that way." 

"Well, it's not healthy. You're going to play softball outside with us and you're going to like it." 

"If I hate it, which I know I will, can I have permission to complain about it relentlessly?" 

"Since when do you ask permission to complain?" 

"Relentlessly was the key word, sir." 

The President grinned, "You have my permission...Oh and you're on Fred's team." 

"Fred's team? Why is he even on a team? He is not on the Senior Staff and he is not on any of our staffs...He doesn't even work in the White House...He's your wife's nephew," Toby complained. 

"Yes, I know. But he wanted to play, so I told him he could manage one of the teams. What could I say? I didn't want to get on Abbey's bad side right now. My back's acting up, Toby...The last thing I want to do after a long day of listening to you is sleep on the couch," Bartlet replied. 

"But, sir, he is the most annoying man I've ever met in my entire life," Toby responded. 

Josh grinned, "Oh, that's right, you've never met you." 

Toby threw him a glare, while the President continued, "I know he has a unique personality, Toby." 

"Unique? Sir, he refers to himself in the third person all of the time...And that stutter...God, that stutter. He always end up saying: FFFFFred thinks this or FFFFFred disagrees...I end up with spit all over me, it's like being in Niagara Falls when you talk to that guy," Toby grumbled. 

The room erupted into laughter, as the President nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, I've learned to always wear a poncho when speaking with Fred." 

"So then you understand. Please, put me on another team," Toby said in a more demanding tone than he'd intended. 

"Sorry, but the teams were picked out of a hat, we can't change it." 

"Oh, they were picked out of a hat, huh? Then we couldn't possibly reassign, now could we?" Toby replied sarcastically. 

The President grinned and then waved a hand in dismissal. Josh, Sam, CJ and Toby filed out of the Oval Office. Once outside, the others stopped and looked at Toby. 

Sam smiled, "I would just like to go on record as saying that I think you'll make a lovely roasted pig, Toby." 

CJ nodded, with a well-hidden grin, "Oh yes, with a little color to those cheeks...Lovely, just lovely." 

Toby scowled at them both, his mouth hanging slightly open. Josh smiled widely as he grabbed a small apple off of Mrs. Landingham's desk and popped it in Toby's mouth. "Ah yes, with a little color, a couple of grass skirts and few leis, we could have ourselves a luau!" 

Everyone, with the exception of Toby, almost fell over laughing. They walked away, as Toby pulled the apple out of his mouth and yelled after them, "That's the kind of stuff that people go to hell for...Just so you know." Then he muttered to himself, "That wasn't funny." 

* * * * 

Donna followed Josh down the halls of the West Wing. 

"Please," she said. 

"No." 

"Please." 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"Because you're not good." 

"I am too good! I have a great arm! Please, let me pitch, Josh. You're managing, it's your decision." 

"And I said no. You have a good arm, Donna, you just don't have any control over your pitches." 

"Geez, you hit one person and it's held against you for an eternity." 

"One person? Donna, you hit five people. How you managed to hit Sam as he played second base is still a mystery to me...And don't even get me started on hitting the First Lady as she sat in the bleachers," Josh sighed with a shake of his head. 

"Okay, so I have a slight control problem." 

"Slight? I've seen members of an OverEaters Anonymous Group at an All-You-Can-Eat buffet with better control, Donna," Josh replied with a grin. 

"I think you're just jealous," she responded, while crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Jealous?! Of what? Your ability to cripple half of the most influential people in the White House?" 

"No, of my ability to throw so hard." 

"Yeah, that's it," Josh replied sarcastically. 

"So can I?" Donna asked hopefully. 

"Can you what?" 

"Can I pitch for our team?" 

Josh sighed, "Fine, I'll just make sure that we have a few ambulances on hand." 

Donna grinned happily, "Thanks, Josh." 

* * * * * 

Toby entered Sam's office and stopped in mid-step when he saw him. "What the hell are you doing?" 

Sam had his back to him, with his bent arms up and his legs spread, "I'm practicing my swing." 

Toby rubbed a hand across his chin, "Let me get this straight. I told you to come in here and work on the speech for the Indian Prime Minister Luncheon, but you somehow took that to mean 'go practice your swing'? 

"That's right," Sam said, barely hearing him and taking an imaginary swing. 

"And I shouldn't kill you right now because?" Toby asked in irritation. 

"Because then I really wouldn't write the speech." 

"Well then, you'd be doing just as much dead as you're doing while alive," Toby muttered. 

"I'm thinking...This helps me think...You don't help me think," Sam replied distractedly. 

Toby gritted his teeth, "Oh, I'll help you think.. After I get the President to fire you, I'll help you think about how much better it used to be working in the West Wing than it is standing in the Unemployment line." 

Sam sighed, "You know what? You should give this a try. It'll help you relax a little...It'll get rid of all that excess anger you have." 

"Excess? What excess? I plan on using it all in good time, my friend," Toby replied with a devilish grin. 

"Come on, give it a try," Sam said as he came closer to Toby. "I'll help you." 

Toby shook his head and held up his hands as a barrier, "Put one hand on me, Sam, and I swear you'll have to type with your toes for the rest of your life." 

Sam held his hands up in defeat, "Fine, wallow in your grumpiness then." 

"I will...I like wallowing." 

"Will you leave me alone now?" 

"Will you write the speech now?" 

"I'm writing it right now, as we speak...Just started, in fact." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm writing it in my head." 

"Dear God," Toby grumbled under his breath. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Sometimes I write speeches in my head first. I sort out what I want to say and then I type it out." 

"Ah, so that explains it." 

"Explains what?" 

"Why so many of your speeches are little more than crap," Toby declared. 

"That would actually hurt my feelings if you hadn't already told me it like a thousand times," Sam said. 

"I like to be thorough," Toby replied with a smile. He then paused and looked at Sam thoughtfully for a moment. 

Sam regarded him with bewilderment, "What are you doing?" 

Toby grinned and said, "I'm writing a letter to the President in my head regarding my reasons for your termination." 

Sam smiled widely and replied, "Neat method, huh?" 

Toby sighed, rolled his eyes and left the room. 

* * * * * 

CJ opened up the floor to questions after she finished her briefing, "Yes, Danny?" 

"What position will the President be playing in tomorrow's softball game?" he asked. 

"Are you planning on writing an article about that, Danny?" she asked with a small smile. 

"Maybe." 

"I believe he'll be catching." 

"Is that wise given the fact that he has a bad back?" 

CJ smiled, "You know what, Danny? I really don't concern myself with the President's back and his softball position preferences." 

"You don't think the public has a right to know, CJ?" Danny asked with a grin. 

"Unless the President's back is a matter of national concern that I am unaware of, then no, I don't think the public has a right to know." 

"And the fact that last year he nearly broke his nose while catching should not concern us at all?" 

"He didn't nearly break his nose while catching, Danny. He nearly broke his nose when he tripped and fell over a bat on his way to get a hotdog in between innings," CJ said with a smile. 

"And he-..." 

CJ looked at him over her eyeglasses, as she interrupted him, "Let me make this easier for you, Danny, and faster for me...No, I don't know whether the President prefers mustard or ketchup on his hotdog. Yes, I do think the fact that the President has both run his bike into a tree and tripped over a bat is humorous...No, I don't know what brand of cleats he prefers...And, yes, I can say with some certainty, that the President does, in fact, where a protective cup while playing softball." 

At that comment, the room dissolved into laughter. CJ smiled and picked up her notes, "That's all for today. Thank you." 

She left the podium and exited the room. She was soon approached by Danny, "I was just wondering what the President's feelings are regarding relish on his hotdog, CJ...You didn't address that." 

CJ smiled, "You'd have to ask him." 

"Okay." 

Danny kept following CJ for a few minutes in silence. She finally removed her eyeglasses and turned around to face him. "Were you planning on following me around for the rest of the day?" 

Danny shook his head with a grin, "No, I was just enjoying the view from here while I had the chance." 

CJ rolled her eyes, as she struggled to keep her lips from curling into a smile, "I should really smack you for a comment like that." 

"Sure, I'm not usually into that kind of stuff, but anything for you," Danny replied with a smirk. 

CJ laughed lightly, while shaking her head, "You never give up, do you?" 

"No, that's why I call myself a reporter." 

"Well, I have work to do, so you should run along and write that article about the President's softball position," CJ said with a wave of her hand. 

Danny nodded and then whispered to her, "You know, we've already gotten to first base...Anytime you'd like to steal second, just let me know." He concluded with a cocky grin. 

CJ chuckled and then pointed down the hall, "Go." 

* * * * * 

The next day, the staffers stood on the field preparing to start the game. The President was advising the Secret Service, as he pointed to the ground in front of the dugout. "Make sure that there are no bats left lying around...Someone could really get hurt." 

They all nodded in compliance, as they hid their grins. 

Mrs. Landingham was walking around with a Tupperware container filled with cookies and was distributing them to the staffers. The President waved her over to him. "Yes, sir," she said. 

"I would like a cookie, please, Mrs. Landingham." 

"No, sir." 

"And why not?" 

"Because you do not play well with food in your stomach, sir." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means that during last year's annual football game you vomited all over Sam after having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Mr. President." 

"I had the beginnings of the flu, Mrs. Landingham." 

"No, sir, you did not." 

"Can I have a cookie, please?" he said, returning to the original subject. 

"No, sir." 

"You know what? One of these days I am going to bake my own cookies and then I am going to refuse to give you any...See how you like it," he replied with agitation. 

"Yes, sir," she said with a small smile. 

Toby stood in front of Fred, with his arms crossed and his face twisted by a scowl. 

"FFFFFred thinks that we ssssshould be patient at the plate," Fred said. 

Toby brought a hand up and wiped at his face. He spoke under his breath, "Toby thinks he should have brought an umbrella." 

Leo gestured to speak, "Fred, what do you suggest we do about Donna's control problems. She disabled three of our players last year." 

"FFFFFred thinks you ssssshould try not to get hit," he replied. 

Toby sighed, "Wow, good thinking there, Fred. We never would have thought of that." 

Just then Sam approached the group. Toby smiled at him and put his arm around his shoulder. "Sam, so nice to see you. Did you need to see me about something?" 

"No," Sam said cautiously, "What's wrong with you?...You're scaring me." 

"Why does something have to be wrong? Can't I just be happy to see you and want to be in your company?" 

"No...Not unless Donna hit you in the head with a softball before the game even started," Sam replied with a slight grin. 

Toby came closer to him and whispered discreetly, "I don't want to be near the stuttering sprinkler anymore...Give me an excuse to leave." 

Sam nodded in understanding. He then said loudly to the rest, "Toby, wants me to rub sunblock on him now...You'll have to excuse him." 

The others gave them both strange looks, while Toby glared at him. He spoke through gritted teeth as they walked away, "What's the matter with you? I want you to rub sunblock on me? What were you thinking?!" 

Sam shrugged, "It's the best I could do on such short notice." 

Toby shook his head at him and then grimaced as Sam held up a bottle of sunblock. Sam held it up in front of him and gave him a wink, while barely keeping a straight face. 

Toby snatched the bottle of sunblock away from him and then threw it as far as he could over the fence. "That's what I think you can do with your sunblock, Sam...Now go away." 

Sam shrugged and then headed off in the direction of his sunblock. 

Josh spoke slowly to Donna, "Hitting players, bad. Not hitting players, good." 

"Joshua, I do not appreciate your tone." 

"Well, I don't appreciate you injuring innocent people." She sighed at him, as he continued, "I'm catching, too, so just keep your eyes focused on me. Just aim for my glove." 

"That's what I did last time." 

"You did?" 

"Yes." 

"Damn, you're even worse than I thought," he replied with a grin. 

He was rewarded with a gentle swat on his arm. 

Leo approached the President, as he was looking over his catcher's gear, "Sir, do you really think it is a good idea to catch when your back's been acting up lately?" 

"Oh, not you, too," he groaned. "I already heard this from my wife, Leo. If you don't mind, I'd like to skip your performance." 

He sighed, "Have you ever considered that Abbey may have a point?" 

"No, I haven't and I don't plan to. My back is fine. It's just a little sore, that's all." 

"You're as stubborn as a goat, you know that." 

Bartlet grinned, "Thank you, Leo. Now why don't you run along and try to steal some cookies from Mrs. Landingham for me." 

Leo shrugged in defeat and walked away from him. 

* * * * * 

The game began a few minutes later. Josh, Donna, Sam, and Charlie, as well as several other staff members were on one team. Leo, Toby, the President, CJ, and Fred, as well as several other staff members were on the other team. Donna took her place on the mound, as CJ stepped to the plate. 

Josh whispered to CJ from his place behind the plate, "One word: Duck." 

CJ stifled a laugh, as Donna began her wind up and threw her first pitch. Sure enough, the pitch sailed upwards and would have hit CJ square on the forehead had she not ducked. 

Josh sighed, as he glared at Donna from behind his mask. She simply shrugged. 

The President, his competitive nature rearing his head, stepped out of the dugout and yelled at the umpire, "What? She doesn't get a warning?!...That girl's a headhunter!" 

Donna scowled at the President, as she rolled the ball around in her hands. Leo finally managed to get Jed back into the dugout so the game could resume. 

Donna wound up and threw her next pitch, which proceeded to dip downwards and hit CJ just above the knee. CJ yelped an "ouch" before talking her base. 

Josh groaned, as he stood up and walked over to Donna. "Hey, Donna, if you keep this up someone's bound to bring you up on assault charges." 

Donna frowned at him, "You're supposed to advise me when you come over here, Josh." 

"I am...I'm offering you legal advice. Run, while you can," he responded. 

"Joshua!" 

"Look, Donna, all I can say is try to throw the ball at my glove, not at people." 

Donna made a "humph" sound and then watched his retreating figure. 

The game resumed and Donna proceeded to hit every other batter, until the score was 1-0. The President now stepped to the plate. 

He swung his bat back and forth and then pointed it at Donna with a smile. "Hit me and five Secret Service Agents will tackle you before you can say 'play ball'." 

Donna frowned at him and shook her head. She then wound up and threw the pitch. The President swung and missed. Then she wound again, threw the ball and he missed it again. The third pitch resulted in the same outcome, rendering the President struck out. 

The President's face grew red and he threw his helmet down in frustration. The umpire took his mask off and shook his head at him, "Sir, you are not allowed to throw equipment. Consider yourself warned." 

"Warned!" Jed exclaimed. Then he pointed at Donna, "What about her? All of the sudden she has great control? She couldn't find the plate with a map and a flashlight one batter ago! You should check the ball, I bet she did something to it." 

Josh shook his head, as he brought himself out of the squatting position and took his mask off. "Sir, I really think you should sit down before you get thrown out of the game." 

Jed glared at the umpire, "Thrown out of the game?! You wouldn't dare...Would you?" 

The umpire shrugged, "I would, sir." 

The President groaned and then stalked away. He returned to the dugout and took his seat next to Leo. The Chief of Staff shook his head at him, "Has anyone ever told you that you are not at all presidential when you play sports?" 

"No, but I think you just did," the President muttered. 

Leo smiled and nodded. The President them turned to him with a mischievous smile, "I want this game, Leo." 

"Sir-..." Leo said warningly. 

"I didn't want to have to do this." 

"Then don't," he snapped. 

The President shook his head with a grin, "I feel I must. I'm not going to risk losing." 

Leo sighed, "The phrase 'it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game' means nothing to you, does it?" 

The President chuckled, "You don't win every election you've ever run in and become President with that kind of attitude, Leo." 

Leo shook his head in defeat, as the President retrieved a cell phone from one of the Secret Service Agents. 

* * * * * * 

Sam, the second baseman, approached Toby, as he stood on second. Josh and Donna were having another conversation, so the game had been stopped again. 

"You're getting red," Sam said, eying Toby. 

Toby looked at him uncomfortably, "I really don't like the fact that you are studying me, Sam." 

"I'm just saying that you're getting sunburned. Should have put that sunblock on." 

He shook his head, "I hate that stuff. Makes me feel greasy." 

"I think greasy is better than burned," Sam replied. 

"Considering how much hair gel you use, I'd think you would," Toby replied with a grin. 

Sam lifted his hat and patted self-consciously at his hair. "I use the normal amount of hair gel, Toby." 

"I'm sure you do," he said unconvincingly. 

"It says on the can to place a dime-size amount of gel in the palm of your hand. That's what I do, dime-size." 

"Dime-size?" 

"Yes." 

"That just seems like a lot to me." 

"Gel the size of a dime seems like a lot to you?" 

"You don't have a lot of hair, Sam." 

"So?" 

"So, I think a lot goes a long way. You should probably use your discretion." 

Sam scoffed at him, "What do you know? You barely have any hair to speak of." 

Toby frowned at him and spoke quickly, "True, but I happen to have not been born yesterday, so I have the ability to realize that when your hair can be used to fix squeaking doors, you may want to think about cutting down on the hair gel." 

Sam lowered his eyes as he placed his hat back on his head. He then mumbled a weak, "You're just jealous because I have more hair than you," before resuming his position. 

Toby smiled with satisfaction, as he turned his attention back to the game. 

* * * * * * 

By the third, Josh and Donna's team was ahead by a score of 5-4. The President was now pacing back and forth in the dugout. He stopped abruptly, as his eyes fell on the person he awaited. 

He grinned and walked over to greet him, "Mr. McGwire, thank you for coming." 

Mark McGwire of the St. Louis Cardinals smiled, "Please, call me Mark, Mr. President." 

He nodded happily, "You're just what we need, Mark. I'm just lucky that I've known your father for an eternity and that you happened to be visiting him here." 

McGwire smiled and then allowed the President to lead him to the field. Everyone's eyes widened when they saw him. Josh's mouth dropped open and he shook his head. 

The President placed his arm around Mark and smiled widely, "I would like to make a substitution." 

Josh shook his head fiercely, "With him? That's Mark McGwire, for heaven's sake!" 

The President grinned, "I know." 

Josh's eyes widened, as he continued to shake his head, "Sir, this guy holds the Major League Baseball record for homeruns hit in a season with 70!....You can't have him on your team!" 

"Sure, I can, Josh," the President replied. 

Josh ran a hand down his face and then tried to speak calmly, "Okay, okay, let's just talk about this as far as rules go. He is not a member of the White House staff." 

The President smiled, "He's Abbey's *other* nephew." 

Josh chuckled bitterly, "With all due respect, sir, you're a liar and a blatant cheater." Josh took a deep breath and then tried again, "Okay, how about this then. He's not on the roster. You can't just substitute a non-roster player." 

The President nodded, "Yes, I can. Donna disabled three of my players, which leaves me with no extras. The rules say I can substitute whoever I want then if another player becomes injured." 

"But you have enough players! No one else is injured!" Josh exclaimed. 

The President gestured to Fred, who stood at his side, "Fred's hurt." 

"No, FFFFred's not hurt," Fred said. 

"Sure you are," the President replied, as he threw him a menacing glare. 

Fred nodded, "Yes, FFFFred's fffffoot hurts." 

The President smiled and then waved his hand, "There's your injury, Josh." 

Josh groaned, as he ran a hand through his hair, "This is low, sir. This is low ever for you." 

The President simply shrugged and grinned. He then patted Mark on the back and McGwire proceeded to take his spot at the plate. 

Josh sighed and approached Donna on the mound. 

He smiled mischievously at her, as an idea suddenly hit him, "You know, if you were to suddenly lose your control again, that'd be okay with me." 

"You want me to hit him?" she asked incredulously. 

"No, no, I didn't say that. I'm simply saying that if you lost control over your pitches again and hit him, I would be all right with it. A hit batsmen is better than a homerun," he said softly. 

Donna smiled, shrugged, and then nodded. Josh jogged back to his spot and squatted down. Donna then wound up and threw the pitch. It proceeded to hit Mark McGwire in the rear-end. 

The President groaned and then waved his hands as he came out of the dugout. "Wait! He's fine! He doesn't need to go to first. He got hit in the rear-end. Let him bat." 

The umpire shook his head, "Sir, you know the rules. If you get hit, you have to take first." 

The President sighed and said under his breath, "Damn rules!" 

He then walked back to the dugout and watched as Donna retired the last batter and ended the inning. 

* * * * * 

The President took his place behind home plate, as he waited for the inning to begin. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Mrs. Landingham's Tupperware container of cookies lying unattended on a blanket under a tree near the bleachers. The President watched to see if anyone was looking as he made his way off the field and to the container. 

He bent down, opened the container and took out a chocolate chip cookie. He closed his eyes and sighed as he tasted the delicious cookie. "Mmmm, that's good," he muttered through his mouthful. 

He bent down again to gather a few more cookies and eagerly stuffed them into his mouth. As he was about to straighten, however, he felt a pop and his action was halted. 

"Oh, no," he said, through his cluttered mouth. 

"Serves you right, sir. I said you couldn't have any cookies," Mrs. Landigham's voice came from behind him. 

He managed to turn himself enough so that he could face her. He spoke through his mouthful, as cookie crumbs fell from his chin. "Mrs. Landingham, I do not need to be scolded right now. If you could get me some help instead, I'd very much appreciate it." 

Mrs. Landingham left and soon returned with Leo. The Chief of Staff could barely contain his laughter as he spoke to him, "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about you throwing your back out while catching, sir." 

The President grimaced at him, "Stop smiling, Leo. Stop smiling or I, even in my current state, will find a way to beat you with a baseball bat." 

"Yes, sir," Leo replied with a grin. 

The rest of the staff was wondering why the game had not resumed yet. They soon found their way over to where the President stood hunched over. They worked hard to suppress their laughs. 

Josh smiled, as he bent down slightly to speak to the President, "Well, I guess that means your short one player now, sir. I'm assuming that you aren't hiding anymore Major League Baseball superstars somewhere, so I think that means we win by default." 

The President shook his head, his eyes widening, "No, no, Fred can play." 

Josh shrugged, "Sorry, you substituted for Fred because his foot hurts...Can't put him back in." 

The President moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, as Josh's teammates slapped hands in celebration. 

Leo sighed, "Well, sir, you had it coming. I guess it's true, cheater's never win." 

The President growled at him, "Go away." 

Leo smiled, as he turned around and left. He then alerted the Secret Service and they soon came to the President's aid. 

* * * * * * 

CJ smiled as Danny approached her on the bleachers. "I suppose you saw." 

Danny grinned, "I sure did. I love this President...He never ceases to amuse." 

CJ nodded, "I'll be sure to tell him that you enjoy his mishaps, Danny." 

Danny nodded, "As do my readers." 

"You write about the President's mishaps for your newspaper?" 

"Only when I get bored with the political stuff," he replied with a smirk. 

"Well, you got your story, now go away," she said playfully. 

"Okay, just say you lie awake at night pining for me and I'll be off," he said with a wide smile. 

She chuckled, "Good-bye, Danny." 

"Bye," he replied with a grin before leaving. 

* * * * * * 

Toby, Sam, Josh, CJ and Donna sat on the bleachers drinking some sodas. 

Josh eyed a reddened Toby with a smile, "Too bad the game was cut short, Toby. A few more innings and we could have stuck a fork in you, declaring you done." 

Toby feigned a laugh, "Very funny, Josh. But you can't ruin my mood. I can go home now and escape the outdoors...I'm a happy camper." 

Josh shrugged and then they all watched as Toby removed his baseball cap. They had to bite their lips to keep from laughing, as Toby wiped at his head. He noticed their stares. 

"What?" he snapped. 

"Nothing," CJ replied, stifling her laugh. 

"What?" he said again, through clenched teeth. 

Sam spoke slowly, "Well, it seems that you have a...What shall I call it?...A sunburn line...Yes, that's it." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Toby asked in confusion. 

They were silent, as Donna reached into her bag and handed him a small mirror. He took it from her and looked at his reflection. What he saw caused him to groan loudly. 

The top of his head, where his hat has been was left unburned...As well as the area from the middle of the bridge of his nose and upwards, which had been shaded by the bill of the cap. However, the rest of his face was a light shade of red. 

Therefore, part of his head was it's normal color, while the rest of it was reddened. 

He shook his head angrily, "Damn sun!" 

"I told you to put sunblock on," Sam stated. 

Toby rewarded him with a glare and then muttered, "I look like a human Candy Cane!" 

The others erupted into laughter, as Toby slammed his hat back onto his head. 

THE END 


End file.
